


Up in Smoke

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: [Swapfell] Grillby aquires a new and promising asset. His new skeleton just needs a little training.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/gifts).



> I read this [amazing and incredibly compelling drabble](https://itsladykit.tumblr.com/post/167166928509/i-am-not-loosing-you-again-swapfell-bros) and had such a rush of feelings and inspiration that I kind of had to do a thing. I don’t really want to poach the whole idea for myself since I would love to see LadyKit use it, but you could consider this…encouragement? Inspiration? A bribe? 8D Something like that.
> 
> I’m drawing pretty heavily from LadyKit’s characterisation and headcanons of Swapfell Papyrus here, so you should go read their stuff for more. :9
> 
> I turned this into a little 2-part piece, though I'm not sure whether I'll continue writing any more for it, particularity since Lady Kit is exploring some of these themes in their Compound Fracture fic. I'm open to being enabled, though.
> 
> Content Warnings: Swapfell Grillby/Swapfell Papyrus, non-consensual drugging, kidnapping, prelude to sexual slavery.

“Should I be flattered or worried that you’re following me around?”

Papyrus fought to keep his expression impassive as Grillby gracefully dropped into the empty seat beside him. He tilted his head at an uncommitted angle, as if to say, _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ , though they both knew that to be a lie. Grillby grinned at him, the molten glow of even hotter fire flashing from between the seam of his mouth.

“I thought your brother was the one cultivating an interest in me,” Grillby purred, not missing a beat despite Papyrus’s lack of acknowledgement. “But perhaps yours was just easier to overlook?”

The two of them had never even had a proper conversation; Sans had always done all the talking, unfathomably eager to keep Grillby’s attention to himself. Irately, Papyrus could admit there was something oddly compelling about Grillby’s low, crackling voice. It was comforting to listen to; soothing. The kind of voice that beguiled away trust, that made you want to confide in its owner.

The way Sans always – warmed? Ugh. Brightened? No, that one was even worse – in Grillby’s presence was a source of quietly simmering resentment in Papyrus, but he must have hidden it well because Grillby’s expression was full of charm and confidence. He leaned forward, shoulders squared in such a way that the generous cleft where his shirt parted over his broad chest offered a tantalising glimpse of the roiling flames beneath. Papyrus found his gaze drifting downward before catching himself and focusing his eye-lights back on Grillby’s face, but by then it was too late. Grillby’s smirk was victorious. A slimey trickle of sweat began working its way down Papryus’s spine that wasn’t solely due to the proximity of heat and the heaviness of his coat.

Just as he was considering shuffling across the bench, pointedly moving away from Grillby’s aggressive posturing, the elemental pulled back on his own, idly pulling out a thick cigar from the inside of his shirt. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

It almost surprised him that Grillby bothered to ask. He shook his head minutely, watching as Grillby elegantly brushed a finger over the tip of the cigar. It began smoldering immediately, and Grillby drew a deep, practiced breath from the other end. He smiled ruefully.

“I’d offer you one, but we don’t know each other that well yet,” Grillby said, shrugging in a way that effortlessly conveyed, _what can you do?_ His bluntness was actually kind of refreshing. Despite the smarm he was exuding, he wasn’t going to insult Papyrus’s intelligence by trying to ply him with potentially laced goods. “But don’t let me stop you. I know you usually indulge outside when your brother drops by to visit me.”

It was faintly perturbing that Grillby had noticed. Normally when Papyrus accompanied his brother, Sans’s ferocity and fiestyness obscured Papyrus’s much less imposing presence. Other monsters tended to overlook him, which was exactly how he preferred it. Then again, Grillby was known to be an information broker of sorts, among his less questionable services. He had just enough useful leads and tips to keep Sans too distracted to dig any deeper about Grillby’s own activities. Papyrus knew better than to try correct his brother’s decision. He’d have to find something worthwhile on Grillby if he wanted to push past Sans’s unusual fondness for the Elemental.

Grillby hadn’t done anything helpfully incriminating in the last few hours Papyrus had been trailing him, but perhaps in his overconfidence he might give something away. After a moment of consideration, Papyrus pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes and balanced one between his teeth as he dug around for his lighter.

“Let me,” Grillby offered. Papyrus flinched as the upraised hand came dangerously close to his face, but Grillby moved slowly and unthreateningly. His fingertip caressed the end of Papyrus’s cigarette, his gentleness somehow more suggestive than anything more lewd would have been. The heat of his palm left a lingering afterimage of warmth behind, like a searing kiss over the bones of his cheeks and jaw. Papyrus had to resist the urge to scrub it away, shoving his hands deep into his pockets to hide the way his fingerbones trembled.

The hit of nicotine seemed to help, though. By the second inhale Papyrus could feel the uneasy knot in his chest start to loosen by increments. Grillby seemed happy to do the talking, seamlessly launching into a story about his bar that was only slightly outrageous. This type of socialising, Papyrus could handle. The smoking offered a companionable distraction, and Papyrus could nod at all the right intervals to maintain a semblance of interest while he tried to memorize names, places, anything that might let slip the kind of activities he was sure Grillby was involved in under his guise of successful entrepreneurship in Hotland’s viciously competitive market. It wasn’t easy, though, perhaps because Grillby’s voice was so quiet and even. Some of the words seemed to run together fluidly. Papyrus frowned, rubbing at his skull, struggling to concentrate.

It didn’t help that Grillby was clearly an expert practitioner with his vice of choice. The cigar smoke was thick with a strangely pleasant minty aroma. With every exhale, Grillby absently crafted elaborate trails of smoke, whirlwind spirals and hoops that grew and shrank to loop each other with uncanny finesse. He was probably cheating somehow with fire magic, but Papyrus was reluctantly impressed.

His eyes must have lingered too long on the elongating sphere that for a moment had looked like a skeletal skull. Grillby grinned playfully at him. “A trivial skill, but it keeps my patrons entertained. Do you know any.”

Papyrus tilted his head, taking a deeper inhale of his cigarette before blowing a simple, modest ring of smoke. It was a more difficult than it looked, given that he didn’t have cheeks or lungs to hold the vapor properly. Grillby’s appreciative expression threatened to make him blush. He ducked his head, feeling a peculiar tingling through his bones – that strangely relaxing, euphoric feeling like when Sans deigned to smile at him. He felt dizzy and…numb? He listed forward, gracelessly overbalancing as his spine went lax, refusing to hold him upright.

“Ah. Careful now.” Suddenly Papyrus was slumped against the oddly solid heat of Grillby’s side. He blinked dazedly, absently aware of the arm now curled around his shoulders. It was…too close. He didn’t like it. He tried to push Grillby away but his limbs felt so distant he couldn’t seem to figure out how to move his arms. His head lifted, but only because Grillby was angling his skull to examine him with a practiced, critical eye. “You’re so fragile. I wouldn’t want you to fall and damage yourself.”

Papyrus’s gaze lurched frantically from side to side, but even if there had been anyone else in the small plaza he doubted they would help him. They might not even be able to tell anything was wrong. Grillby was holding him carefully, hospitably, not with violence or force. Papyrus had trouble finding his voice at the best of times, and right now panic and whatever illicit substance was circulating through his system held it well out of each.

His blurred sight found its way to the thick cigar still nestled between Grillby’s fingers. Papyrus hadn’t even considered it a risk. Grillby had asked. But that must be how he’d fooled all his other victims, lulling them with polite chatter while tainted smoke poisoned their lungs. Grillby must have been immune to it, or maybe he simply burned the drug with each inhale, keeping his flames clean.

His own cigarette was plucked away from his slack mouth, and the potent cigar was pushed against his teeth instead.

“Have a little more,” Grillby encouraged him pleasantly. “It’s taken a little longer to put you under than usual. Skeletons must be more resistant than the fleshy types. I’ll have to keep that in mind for your brother.”

Papyrus went stiff and still, his body managing to tense despite the drug. Pressed together, Grillby could undoubtedly feel it, and he chuckled lightly.

“I’m kidding,” he assured Papyrus. “Sans is much too well-known to disappear quietly. You, however…I don’t think you’ll be missed. Even with this…”

Pressure tugged at Papyrus’s cervical vertebrae. He gasped, jerking frantically but the weak movement couldn’t prevent Grillby from unbuckling his collar and pulling it free. His neck felt naked and vulnerable without it.

“Everyone knows Sans only keeps you out of obligation,” Grillby remarked, examining the collar idly. An acrid smell began to curdle the air as the leather blackened in his hold, curling and crumbling to pieces. “Family is a sweet sentiment, but I don’t think it’ll take long for him to realise he’s better off without you.”

The tags on the collar lasted the longest, valiantly resisting the heat until it too began to scorch and deform. Grillby made sure to smear away the etching on the plate, obscuring Sans’s name and claim before letting the crumpled plate drop to the street, now ruined and useless.

Grillby stood, dragging Papyrus with him as the skeleton’s vision started to darken around the edges, his mind going numb and insensate.

“But don’t worry,” Grillby said, stroking a hand down Papyrus’s back as if to comfort him. “We’ll find you a new owner before too long.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Swapfell Grillby/Swapfell Papyrus, non-consensual drugging, kidnapping, bondage, physical violations that aren’t overtly sexual but are certainly suggestive, eye-socket penetration, oral penetration, manipulative soul projections/emotional manipulation, unwilling exhibitionism.

The soporific languor of a drug-induced sleep wasn’t an unfamiliar way of returning to consciousness. Papyrus blinked slowly, letting awareness come back to him in nebulous increments instead of fighting for coherency. He wanted to cling to the comfort of dull senses and the inconsequential passage of time, but there was a persistent itch in his bones gnawing away at his calm.

Something wasn’t right; this wasn’t his room and it wasn’t Muffet’s parlor. The room was hazed in long curtains of shadow, amplified by the single, glaring light source burned into his sockets. It took painfully long seconds to focus his eyelights on Grillby’s smiling face.

“Ah. Finally awake, pet?”

Panic couldn’t set in immediately – whatever Grillby had given him kept his body numb, his magic crawling sluggishly through his marrow – but it _tried_. Magic sparked warningly in the air, but his attempt to raise his command hand was thwarted by a cuff of steel wrapped around his wrist. He inhaled sharply, smoky air invading his mouth and burning his throat as the other monster leaned over him with leering interest. The light of Grillby’s flames saturated Papyrus’s vision, too close and too hot. He tried to cringe away but the chains immediately pulled him up short, keeping him splayed out across the steel table that felt uncomfortably like one of Gaster’s examination beds; sturdy and sterile. With his arms pulled taut overhead and his ankles cuffed to the far corners, he had no means to defend himself.

(Also just like with Gaster, though his creator had rarely needed the restraints. His orders were enough to keep Papyrus pliant and terrified.)

“You sure you wanna keep this one, Boss?” Papyrus startled, his focus so skewed by the lingering haze of sedation and Grillby’s looming presence he hadn’t even realised there was another monster in the room. He twisted in his bonds, trying to assess the threat they might present, but his eyelights refused to focus past the stinging ache of Grillby’s glaring illumination. “He doesn’t look like our usual product. Could be trouble.”

“You’re wrong,” Grillby replied, absent running a hand over Papyrus’s ribs as if he could sooth away the panicked twitching. It might have seemed like a kindness, but the casual invasiveness of that gesture was appalling. “He’s perfect for us. Watch.”

Grillby’s smile seemed soft, almost benevolent, as his palm came to rest over the peak of Papyrus’s sternum. Papyrus raced, expecting heat and pain or crushing pressure. He wasn’t at all prepared for the powerful projections assaulting his soul with a suffocating chokehold of _/HELPLESSNESS/WEAKNESS/IMPOTENCE/ISOLATION/SURRENDER/_.

Papyrus went rigid, for one moment his soul buckling, almost yielding to the terrifying onslaught of foreign emotion before managing to shake it off…but that fleeting display of doubt betrayed everything. Grillby’s attempt to influence him wouldn’t have worked at all if some part of Papyrus hadn’t already accepted defeat. He could struggle and resist, but deep down he knew he was too (helpless/weak/impotent/alone) to escape. The knowledge was unsurprising and yet utterly horrifying.

“See? Perfect,” Grillby repeated, his voice a low purr.

A low sound escaped Papyrus’s throat – a noise that could be uncharitably described as a whimper – and he fought to turn it into a growl, heaving hard against the restraints. From the corner of his vision, he could see the other monster flinch back, but Grillby didn’t move at all, utterly confident that his captive couldn’t reach to strike at him.

And, despairingly, he was right. It took Papyrus less than a minute to reach his limit. His weak stamina petered out as hot air burned in his chest cavity and perspiration drenched his bones. He couldn’t catch his breath. Every inhale was tainted with the smoke of Grillby’s presence and scorched his throat with stifling heat. The thick layers he wore that were perfectly suited for Snowdin’s biting cold clung heavily with sweat.

Grillby seemed to take note of this, plucking distastefully at Papyrus’s collar before his mouth curled in a self-satisfied smirk. “Let’s get started then.”

“Ready, boss,” the other monster chirped, and Papyrus cringed. _Ready for what?_

Magic condensed around Grillby’s hands, making them spark with blue-tinted flames. Dread somehow managed to push past Papyrus’s exhaustion, driving him to jerk mindlessly against the chains to no avail. Grillby simply took hold of his forearms, pressing Papyrus down hard into the table while the acrid smell of burning wool filled the air. His sleeves were burning, alarming heat lapping at his wrists and forearms, and a distressed wheeze of sound slipped past his teeth before he managed to hold it back.

(Sans would be disgusted with him. Outraged. Pathetic dog, no better than an animal, can’t control yourself, can’t control your fear, putting your weakness on display for everyone to see.)

Grillby’s control was utterly precise, however, and though Papyrus could feel the lick of flames crawling down his arms as his shirt burned away to nothing, the sensation was only an uncomfortable prickle. His HP didn’t drop by even a fraction, but even without the intent to harm, distress churned sickeningly in his soul with every additional inch of bone revealed.

(Don’t, he wanted to plead, but his voice was locked up in a painful knot at his throat, more effective than any gag would have been.)

Grillby was examining him critically, his gaze somehow cold in spite of the stifling heat he gave out. “Moderate, expected scarring across the bones. Fresh wounds around the forearm.”

“Drug use?” the other monster offered, their comment accompanied by the distinct scratch of pen on paper. “Can skeletons use needles?”

“Do you, pet?” Grillby asked. It took Papyrus a moment to even realise the question was directed at him. He only stared back, numb and mute. Grillby shrugged philosophically. “I guess we’ll find out later if he needs a fix.”

The steady burn of Papyrus’s shirt had consumed his sleeves, and worked its way across his chest. Grillby dusted away the ashy remains, sending them fluttering into the air like drunken moths, revealing all the flaws and blemishes beneath. Papyrus felt a fleeting caress across his bottom-most ribs, and hissed as Grillby’s fingers caught on the recently chipped edges.

“Bite marks,” Grillby noted with a twisted, grin. “And scratches. I think our new product enjoys rough handling.”

The note-taking monster snickered. “Wow. You sure know how to pick ‘em, Boss.”

A different kind of heat – one of excruciating mortification – began creeping over Papyrus’s bones. With his shirt gone, both monsters could see everything from his collarbones to his ilium. The marks that brought him comfort in secret, the raised scars on his ulna, the loving indents of Muffet’s teeth, and even the smoothly worn contours of his vertebrae where his collar had burnished the bone over time were degradingly exposed; badges of weakness and failure and addiction and shame.

( _/Helplessness/Weakness/Impotence/Isolation/Surrender/_ …Grillby was projecting again, but more subtly.)

Papyrus shivered in spite of the heat, his bones rattling together in a quaking rhythm of distress. He was starting to realise that Grillby’s clinical appraisal wasn’t just to demean him. It was purposeful, practiced. Between the note-taking and the observations, he was being assessed. Judged. Not the kind of judgement that came in the Golden Hall, but for some other insidious purpose that he was frantically trying not to think about.

(He should have been glad they weren’t going to kill him, but everyone out of stripes knew that there were worse fates in the Underground than dusting.)

He tried closing his sockets, desperately trying to find something to hide behind, but stripped of every other safety net the only focus he could find was the bite of hard metal squeezing around his wrists as he pulled mercilessly against them, letting the bones of his carpels grind together painfully.

“He’s so quiet too,” the other monster noted wistfully. “Not a screamer, like the last one.”

Grillby huffed in amusement, his heat receding for a moment as he turned away. Papyrus dared to peep through a thin crack in one socket as Grillby pulled out a small, round tin, twisting it open. Whatever was in it smelled potent; like an unholy mix of gasoline and paint thinner. “He just needs a little encouragement to find his voice.”

The contents of the tin was applied liberally to Grillby’s hands. They changed colour again, this time warming to a gentle, yellow hue. By the time Papyrus belatedly realised he was staring, it was too late to clench his eyes shut again, and there was no warning at all as Grillby cupped his face and brazenly pushed both thumbs into the hollow of each of Papyrus’s sockets.

“Guh!” That definitely did wrench a noise out of him, one of alarm and discomfort. He wasn’t so much struck blind as his vision went white, blinding illumination puncturing each eyelight in a way he thought should have been painful, but-

Grillby’s thumbs carefully caressed the lower rim of each socket, moving slowly, sensually. The substance on his hands smeared greasily, somehow slicking the contact between hard bone and the fickle matter that made up Grillby’s body. Papyrus faintly recalled he’d heard of compounds like that, meant to harmonise the mingling of incompatible magics, but it was nearly impossible to think straight as Grillby delved further into his skull in spite of Papyrus’s innate magic attempting to push back against the intrusion.

“Ah!” His spine arched as much as it was able, lifting off the table before collapsing back down. “Hngh!”

( _/Surrender/Yield/Submit/_ …His magic gave way more quickly than it should have, tentatively enveloping the digits in his socket.)

“Eye sockets are sensitive,” Grillby noted mildly. Papyrus could feel himself being checked. “No harm to HP as long as you’re careful.”

“Pretty small hole to fuck,” the other monster observed, horrifyingly. They snickered to themself at a sudden thought. “Except for Madjik, I guess.”

Grillby finally withdrew from his skull, which would have been a brutal relief if the elemental’s hold hadn’t then shifted down to his chin. Papyrus could make an appalled prediction of what was going to happen next. He fiercely clenched his jaw, but the unfortunate structure of his mandible meant there was no way to prevent Grillby from hooking a finger behind his back teeth and prying his mouth open.

“Gold tooth replacement,” Grillby announced, giving the false canine a firm tap that sent the echo of an ache through Papyrus’s skull. He tried to lever his jaw shut again, but Grillby held his mandible prised open with easy strength.

“Should we take it out?” the other monster asked. “Could be worth something.”

“Not as much as he’s worth to let him keep his looks,” Grillby replied. “Besides, the gold looks good against bone.”

His gaze unfocused briefly, an unsettling furrow of consideration crossing his features before it was reluctantly shrugged away. Gazing back down at his wide-eyed captive, Grillby gave Papyrus a smile that was both fond and threatening before abruptly plunging his hand into the skeleton’s parted teeth.

“Hrk!” Three fingers were shoved deep into Papyrus’s throat. His tongue was conjured instinctively and immediately he could feel his taste buds fizzle against the oily coating on Grillby’s hand. He expected Grillby’s touch to burn his more susceptible ectoflesh, but the melding lubricant gave Grillby’s body a texture somewhat like warm wax – heated but bearable, soft and malleable, and strangely luxuriant. Like the smell, there was a perturbing chemical appeal even if it made his teeth tingle and his eyes water.

“Conjured tongue,” Grillby observed, allowing Papyrus a few seconds to strain futilely against his fingers before capturing the organ and giving it a thoughtful squeeze. The pressure was bizarre and perturbingly carnal, slick with spittle and grease as Grillby delved further behind his teeth. “A throat too.” His digits flexed, pushing against the constriction that would normally have converted monster food into pure magic. It couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with Grillby’s fingers, applying a curious suction, reflexively trying to siphon away the obtrusion. “And…ah. No gag reflex.”

Papyrus whined in abject humiliation, jaw straining to accommodate the broad span of Grillby’s palm as it experimentally probed the interior of his mouth. Pavlovian reflex had him over-producing saliva which, like the grease Grillby was using, was a medium for blending the foreign magic of his suckers into something digestible. It oozed disgracefully over his teeth and down his cervical vertebrae, excessive and indecent, until Grillby decided he was satisfied and finally withdrew.

Papyrus coughed weakly, struggling to swallow down the taste. Grillby regarded him with thoughtful, intense eyes, a pleased smile still curling about his lips.

“How promising,” he murmured, and for a moment Papyrus didn’t understand what he was referring to…not until Grillby smoothed a soft caress down the naked length of his spine and papyrus became aware of how soft and sensitive the bone had become, how magic had pooled in the spaces between the vertebrae, quivering with sinuous interest. “You liked that.”

It was a statement, not a question. Papyrus shook his head frantically, but the movement was awkwardly hampered by his attempt to burying his face against his humerus, wishing at moment he could will himself into dust.

Grillby turned to his companion. “Why don’t you take a break? We’ll finish the rest later.”

“You got it, Boss.” The awful _knowing_ in the other monster’s voice filled Papyrus with sickening dread. He could hear a rustle as they put aside their notes, footsteps receding, and absurdly papyrus wanted to beg them to come back because as terrible as a second witness was, being alone with Grillby was much, much worse.

“Let’s find out what _else_ you like,” Grillby proposed, his hand lingering more deliberately on Papyrus’s spine. Warm pressure squeezed around his vertebrae, invasive and violating and horrifyingly _good_.


End file.
